I don’t know why I don’t just lock my family up for the holidays. It’s never a dull moment leaving the house with my seven kids. I’m pretty sure we only get invited places out of obligation. It’s not like we’re just friends who call each other family—we’re tied by blood, for better or worse.

I’m not your typical stereotype for someone who has lots of kids, my husband and I just really like each other a lot. I do have to say my quiver wasn’t full until baby number seven made her debut six months ago. I think she’s the real reason we get invited anywhere. Who can resist a baby with the brightest eyes and a smile that makes adults act ridiculous just to see it again?

My “bundles of joy," get along best during the 8 to 12 hours they’re sleeping. They never whine, argue, or fight. It’s the most peaceful part of my day.

This year, my sister—who clearly felt brave or just forgot what my family is like—offered to host Christmas. She has two kids, perfectly behaved, of course. They’re the type who ask, “How high?” when told to jump. Whenever she complains about how hard it is raising two kids, I listen, biting my tongue, while silently rolling my eyes. 

When we arrived, it was like a tornado hit her pristine home. We spilled out of the car with bags, snacks, and gifts, and my kids wasted no time storming the living room, laughing and hugging their cousins. For a brief moment, it felt almost peaceful. But that didn’t last long.

Her sweet, perfect son decided to open a gift from under the tree. Turns out, it wasn’t just any gift. A tiny kitten came screeching out, claws flailing. That’s when all chaos broke loose.

The kitten bolted straight for the Christmas tree, scrambling up the branches like its life depended on it. My nephew, naturally, chased after it. My sister screamed at him to stop, but it was too late—the tree wobbled, tipped, and then crashed to the floor. Ornaments shattered. The kitten shot out like a furry missile, and before anyone could stop them, all my kids tore off in hot pursuit.

Presents were torn open, food was spilled, kids cried, adults yelled, and that poor kitten bounced off walls like it was trapped in a pinball machine. My sister stood frozen in the middle of the chaos, clutching her head, staring at her once-perfect Christmas in complete disbelief.

When the dust finally settled, the tree was bare, the kitten was hiding somewhere under the couch, and my kids were sticky, covered in frosting and bits of wrapping paper. My sister just looked at me, eyes wide, and said, “Never again.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the most Merry Mayhem Christmas we’d ever had—and honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.